


Skin

by entanglednow



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-23
Updated: 2008-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:44:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack gets what he wants</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin

The trousers are tight but the Doctor really has no hips to hold them up.

Not that the Doctor doesn't have nice hips, really very nice hips, Jack especially likes the way they stand out when he inhales sharply under the amused trail of air that follows Jack's laugh. And he can't resist following the trail of air with his tongue, a quick wet slide across the pale twitching skin of the Doctor's stomach and he gets a very interesting reaction to that.

Very interesting being a quick dart of fingers into his hair and a pull that drags him close enough that teeth seem like a sensible progression.

Teeth are good.

"Jack."

It's a warning, though he's not entirely sure what it's a warning about.

Jack gets his hands inside the waistband and drags it over those delicious hipbones, drags it all the way, material sliding over thighs and the smooth curve of an ass that briefly tempts his fingers into stopping, into _appreciating_.

And Jack's teeth are a little more reckless now, a little more insistent against the skin.

Pulling tiny little noises from above him and the shift of impatient thighs.

The trousers go lower and the Doctor makes a breathless noise.

Everything is narrow and fragile and delicious and Jack can't resist sliding his hands up under the rucked up shirt and using it to pin him to the console.

There's a protesting indignant sound over his head that's _pure_ Doctor and Jack can't resist tipping his head forward just a little, can't resist flattening his tongue quickly, wetly against the top of the Doctor's pelvis a drag that leave the skin shiny and wet.

A sharply indrawn breath and fingernails in his scalp and he can't not groan under that, through a mouth that wants, _desperately_ , but is just waiting, just waiting for encouragement, for annoyance and aggravation.

For a push.

And then, like he's heard him, the hand in his hair pushes, pushes him down and there's never any question that he'll refuse. That he'll do anything but open his mouth.

The Doctor's hips move, a slow sway forward that slides his cock over the flat of Jack's tongue, heavy and greedy and Jack wraps his mouth around it, hands tightening on shirt and metal and bare skin as he pushes his head down, all the way down in one movement, mouth working slow and tight and hot on every inch.

Until the hand in his hair tilts his head up, tilts it back and- Oh, he can't manage slow under that, can't manage slow when the Doctor's hips press up and in and he's so deep Jack can't make any noise at all, but he wants to.

God he wants to.

The Doctor's stronger than he looks, or maybe Jack just wants to be pushed, wants to be right here on his knees on the metal grating with that hand twisted too tight in his hair, too tight and just right and his mouth aches and-

A slow drag of breath above him, not steady, nothing close to steady and Jack can't help lifting his eyes all the way, catching that face, narrow and open, mouth a relaxed drunken curve of what looks like surprise. The sharp movements of his hips are no longer steady either, they're shifting, rough and graceless towards somewhere that makes every breath shake out of the Doctor like a whine

Jack takes it.

Jack takes it all.


End file.
